


Love is Blind

by incenseandteacups



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2018-05-29 04:54:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6360145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incenseandteacups/pseuds/incenseandteacups
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after the events at Kirkwall, Fenris has moved on. He's forgotten any lingering emotions from his time there, moving to Ferelden and traveling from town to town. When he reaches Denerim, however, it appears that fate has refused to let him ignore his past.<br/>He hadn't been with Anders long enough to know if he loved him, but he'll be forced to learn now. When he rescues the mage from a Templar, he finds that Anders has suffered more than he could imagine. Justice was destroyed in an attempt to make him Tranquil, and his body paid a harsh price; his sight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sup! I saw the idea of Justice dying when Anders was made Tranquil, and I thought I'd try and put my own spin on it. Short chapter, but it's just the introduction - following chapters should be longer. Thanks for reading, and I hope you like it!

Fenris grimaced, shaking mud from one bare foot. Fereldan was damper than Kirkwall or his own homeland, and he still hadn’t quite become used to all the muck. He stepped to a drier patch of earth on the dirt path he walked, padding onwards with slightly cleaner feet. 

He’d been marching towards Denerim for…perhaps three weeks. He wasn’t sure. Preferably, he would have stayed in Kirkwall – living in an alienage didn’t suit him, but life with the Dalish didn’t, either. However, he’d left Kirkwall behind two years ago, along with all of his companions. He couldn’t quite admit to himself that he missed them, but should fate decide it, he knew he would meet with them again. He’d wandered over most of Fereldan, offering mercenary work when he needed coin. It wasn’t such a bad life, if rather…empty. 

His ears lifted with surprise as the path spread out into a broad road, where he saw caravans and fellow travelers joining together. Far off in the distance, he saw the city gates, and his expression hardened. There was nothing better waiting for him here, he knew; nothing more meaningful or prosperous than how he’d scraped by so far. But it was a place he could settle for a few months, and save his coin for future travels. 

He moved at a slower pace than the rest of the travelers, not eager to meet more taunting humans who would yell slurs and ask his prices. The alienage would be no better, he was sure; he’d prefer to live on the streets than in those meek slums. Night began to fall, shadows flickering as the moon rose, and soon he was nearly alone on the path. A human family, their child stumbling with exhaustion from their travels, were on his left. A lone elven woman on his right. She gave him a glance before hurrying ahead, and he ignored her. His appearance was intimidating even to his own kind, but this was no news to him. 

A thud sounded off the path, along with a grunt of pain, and Fenris paused to look. He didn’t particularly know why he bothered, anymore; it was likely just another bandit, robbing a traveler. He’d passed by so many similar incidents that by now, intervening seemed pointless.

But the clink of metal armor told him this was more than just a thief. He stepped closer, eyes luminescent in the light of the moon as he followed the source of another thud, this one accompanied with a grunt of pain. 

“You couldn’t have thought you’d be safe in Denerim, swine?” A voice taunted, and there was a new sound – a sword being drawn from its sheath. “They don’t care if you’re alive, anymore. Your head will be enough for them to learn from.” Fenris emerged into a slight clearing, greeted by an unusual sight. A Templar, by the symbol on his armor, stood over a prostrate figure. If it wasn’t for the slight tremble that ran over the man’s bare skin, he would have looked like a corpse. His face was buried in his arms, naked for all but ragged loincloth. Fenris, darned in a warm cloak, felt a chill of sympathy in the cold Fereldan climate. 

The man – a mage, no doubt – was in poor shape. He felt a mixture of pity and scorn; this was a mage, after all, but he couldn’t imagine treating even a dog this way. His back was lined with marks of a whip, old scars covered with fresh wounds. They were deep, open and bleeding, perhaps because of the beating he was getting. There wasn’t an inch of skin that wasn’t faded yellow or dark blue-black. 

“You signed your own death warrant, escaping like you are. You aren’t so valuable that they won’t kill you. Do you know how much trouble it’s been, finding your lousy arse?” The Templar kicked the mage in the stomach, and Fenris felt an echo of the pain, having received similar treatment before. The man threw his head back with a gasp of agony, and Fenris noticed two things at once. 

One; the man’s forehead was branded with a Tranquil sun, which made no sense. A Tranquil wouldn’t bother trying to escape, or be treated with such disdain from a Templar. 

Two; the man was in fact Anders, the apostate that he’d known in Kirkwall. Despite Hawke’s forgiveness after the events at Kirkwall, Anders had fled shortly after the battle, and Fenris hadn’t seen him again.

Not until this very moment. 

Neither of them knew he was there. He could leave, now, forget he saw the mage, forget the sense of damned obligation he felt at seeing his former companion treated this way. Their relationship had never progressed past one desperate kiss. He owed the mage nothing. 

Yet he still stepped forward, feeling a surprising rush of hate as he thrust a glowing hand into the Templars back. His fingers solidified around a heart, fluttering frantically, and he crushed it with a familiar, harsh grip. When he withdrew his hand, the man fell to the ground, and his hand was dripping with blood. He wiped it distastefully on his cloak, before stepping forward. Anders flinched at the sound of his approach, still not looking up at him. 

Fenris grimaced as he crouched by the mage’s side, looking him over more thoroughly. His lean muscle and gaunt cheeks, always making him appear so alarmingly thin, were nothing compared to his emaciation now. It looked as though he wouldn’t have the muscle to move, yet he had somehow survived the harsh beatings he’d obviously been through. His bottom lip was split and bleeding, a cut on his forehead fresh – probably from the Templar Fenris had just killed.

He laid there and quivered, not even putting up a fight, but Fenris knew why. He could smell magebane on Anders’ breath, which meant that he’d escaped recently enough that he was still digesting the herb, likely stuffed down his throat. And he clearly didn’t have the strength to fight with his fists.

“Well?” Fenris jerked back when a voice croaked at him, so familiar it made his chest ache. Feelings long forced down had begun to resurface, but he choked them back again. “You couldn’t shut up before.” His voice was raspy, and laboring as though he couldn’t catch his breath. “Lost your nerve? Not…not going to kill me now?” He gasped and groaned in-between words, forcing them out through gritted teeth.

Surely Anders could see it was Fenris? The Templar was lying dead not three feet from him. “Anders. It’s…me.” Fenris felt as though the words were being held back in his throat, voice cracking as he spoke. Horror had stolen his breath. 

Anders tensed, lips trembling with surprise and fear. A tear slipped down his cheek, head still bowed, but he made no move to wipe it away. Perhaps he was too weak. Unbidden, Fenris reached forward and ever so gently, as though afraid of adding to the damage, ran his thumb over the top of Anders’ cheek. He took in a sharp breath of air, stilling in hesitation before slowly, almost longingly, leaning into the touch. “Fenris.” He breathed. 

Fenris moved his hand to the mage’s shoulder as he sat up, a frown of concern and unsureness creasing his brow. He’d done his best to forget Kirkwall, forget any lingering emotions attached to the places and people he’d known. But they were rushing back, now, and they made him weak. 

Anders leaned heavily on him, looking down and rasping, “I’m so sorry.” The sun branded onto his forehead glinted in the moonlight as he looked up, eyes opening to reveal two silver, aimless eyes. Fenris felt as though there was a stone in his chest, weighing him down with a sudden understanding.

Anders was blind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! It's been, what, a year and three months? Have some unedited crap! :D Better unedited crap than nothing, I always say. Thanks for all the wonderful comments on this fic, and sorry it took me so long to get back to it!

Fenris recoiled as though he’d been bitten, staring at Anders with utter horror. Anders, who had reached out for him, faltered when all he touched was empty air. “Fen…Fenris? Are you…” Fenris forced words out of his dry throat, pity overcoming his shock. 

“I am here, mage…Anders.” His voice was rough. Anders nodded, lowering his head and going silent. 

As night set, the temperature was dropping swiftly. Fenris, after a brief moment to recollect himself, took off his cloak, trying to ignore the drop in his stomach when Anders flinched at his touch. He draped the cloak around the mage’s shoulders, getting to his feet. “We need to get to the city.” With that, he hefted Anders up onto his back, hearing hisses of pain despite his attempts to be gentle. 

*

_He’d shouted and spat and burned half a dozen templars to death before they managed to subdue him, clapping a collar around his throat that held in his magic and made it impossible for him to contact Justice. Justice, the spirit he’d hated so much, who was now his only hope at rescue. Justice, whose voice had spent so long in his head, his nightmares. Justice, who he now missed desperately._

__

__

_They hadn’t wasted any time with him. The chantry was gone, he’d been on the run for two years, and they were ready to be done with the mage and wipe his name from their slates. He was shocked to find out they planned on making him Tranquil, instead of simply beheading him – until he realized that any mage would consider Tranquility worse than death. He’d be made a shadow, reduced from a living, breathing, person…to a carcass that could speak._

__

__

_He’d thought he put up a struggle when he was first brought in. That was nothing compared to how he fought now, as the Templars dragged him to his death, to reduce him to nothingness. He writhed until bones in his wrists snapped, screamed until the veins in his eyes burst and his throat would no longer produce sound. He called desperately for Justice to surge forth, for the spirit to rescue him from this, please, anything but this. And then he was shoved to his knees, his head held still as the enchanted brand approached him. A burning sun, so bright he would have closed his eyes were it not for his knowledge that this was the last thing he’d ever see through his own eyes, instead of a Tranquil's._

__

__

_He had no idea._

__

__

_All he saw was white, a burning sun, and then nothing. A horrible, terrible pain throbbed and screamed in his head, so severe he fell limp into the hands of the Templars. That was a lucky coincidence. Because after that, he’d pretended._

__

__

_The collar was taken off. He was released into the storage rooms. For now, he was to watch and learn the procedures. They loved having him there, like an animal in chains to be gawked at – he could hear the mages talking in hushed voices, “Is that him? The mage who destroyed the Kirkwall Chantry? I can’t believe they made him Tranquil!”_

__

__

_But that was the thing._

__

__

_They hadn’t._

__

__

*

Anders felt as if his body was a sack of meat, that had been so cut up it wasn’t recognizable as an animal anymore. Everything hurt, especially his legs where they were gripped by Fenris. The elf was trying to keep his strides even, which wasn’t difficult – Anders wasn’t exactly heavy, at the moment, just long. Still, the impact of every step sent pain shooting through him, particularly his head, which never ceased throbbing. 

“So, Fenris…” He began, wishing he could force his voice to a volume higher than ‘whisper’. As it was, though, even the minor effort of speaking was almost too much to bear. “How’ve you been?”

Fenris didn’t answer at first, and for just a moment Anders wondered if something was wrong. That was the most unnerving thing about losing his sight – he couldn’t tell at all what people were thinking until they spoke. For most of his life, he’d been excellent at reading faces. How else to tell which Templars to avoid?

“Better than you, it seems.” Fenris said, voice low as always. It was comforting, after spending so long in terror and instability, to be near someone so familiar. Grouchy, but at least he was predictable in that. Fenris sighed, and Anders was able to hear the motion, feel it where his chest pressed to the elf’s back. “My life is uneventful. Mercenary work, moving from city to city. We aren’t far from Denerim, now.” 

Anders coughed out a laugh. “Denerim? Don’t…don’t tell me you’re going to stay in the alienage?” 

Fenris sighed again, and Anders smiled to himself. He’d been right - Fenris would never stoop to living in an alienage, proud as he was. “I’m going to see which inn will take me for some extra silver.” Straightening up, he shifted his grip on Anders’ legs, holding him more securely.

*

_Anders ground his thigh between Fenris’s legs, the elf’s moan vibrating through his mouth as they continued their desperate, sloppy kiss. They were drunk – at least, Anders was drunk, but by the wine he could taste in Fenris’s mouth he suspected he wasn’t the only one._

__

__

_Fenris was a delightful kissing partner, he was finding out, reacting to each and every touch and scrape of teeth like he was some blushing virgin…which was, to say the least, quite uncommon in Kirkwall. Anders lightly caught Fenris’s bottom lip between his teeth, leaning forward and pressing his thigh up again to the elf’s crotch, and he moaned again, hands tightening where they rested on Anders’ hips._

__

__

_Finally, they broke, panting and flushed, and Anders leaned down to press his nose to the juncture between Fenris’s neck and shoulder. “Looks like you like mages more than you let on, hm?” He said, no real weight behind the taunt._

__

__

_When Anders didn't get a response, he pulled back, looking at Fenris with concern. “Fenris?”_

__

__

_Fenris had a hand raised to his swollen lips, and at hearing his name glanced up, an odd look on his face. Not…upset, persay, but certainly not happy. He swallowed, once, twice, and finally Anders got a reply._

__

__

_“I’ve…never done this. Kissed."_

__

__

_Anders was dumbstruck. He really was a virgin, then? Or…no, he didn’t want to consider that. Thinking over it, he supposed it made sense – Fenris had been a slave, and between his escape and the present, Anders doubted he’d exactly been stopping at brothels. “Well…” He began uncertainly, not sure what the proper response to that would be. “Did you like it?”_

__

__

_Fenris scowled at him – when did the elf do anything but? “Yes.” He finally said._

__

__

_He was clearly reluctant to admit it. Reluctant because he’d enjoyed kissing a mage, or because he’d enjoyed kissing? Anders mused the question over as he leaned back towards Fenris, whispering, “Then can I do it again?”_

__

__

_“…yes.” Came his response, sooner this time, and Anders – more gently than before, now that he’d realized the full weight of what they were doing – pressed his lips to Fenris’s, reaching up to lightly trace his nails down the elf’s back. Fenris shuddered, and he grinned into their kiss. If Fenris enjoyed kissing, he’d have to show him all the other enjoyable things that followed._

__

__

_And then a clatter sounded from the doorway, and they jumped apart like startled cats. “Oh! Oh, um, pardon me, I’ll just…I'll see myself out.” Merrill stumbled over her words as always, red-faced and gone before they’d even looked her way. Still, the damage was done, and Fenris glanced at Anders before walking briskly out of the room. Sighing, Anders waited a moment before following suit._

__

__

*

“A little-“ Anders broke off, gritting his teeth. “…gentler, please.” 

He’d been relieved to be set down when they first entered the inn room, only to jerk in protest when his cloak was removed. “What are you-“ 

“You’re wounded, and I won’t wait for them to become infected. Wait here.” Fenris answered shortly, and Anders sat in the uneasy silence as he exited the room. A few minutes later, Fenris returned, and Anders could hear the slosh of water in a bucket as a new weight settled onto the bed. “Turn over.” Fenris ordered.

At any other time, Anders would have gladly made an innuendo. Right now, he was about to have his wounds tended to by a notoriously angry elf, and while he didn’t know if Fenris was above cleaning them with a little extra vigor, he didn’t want to find out. Trembling with the effort, he rolled himself over, hearing the slightest intake of air. He imagined it wasn’t pretty. 

*

_What had possessed him to try and escape, Anders didn’t know. He was blind, Justice was…gone, and he had no magic. But he’d somehow done it anyway, only to be caught after tripping and knocking himself unconscious miles from the circle. And now they knew._

__

__

_He’d been whipped before, but this Templar was relishing in it. He’d known someone at Kirkwall, Anders was sure – he’d heard him complaining that Anders was made Tranquil instead of killed outright. This was an unscripted punishment, one of those that everyone knew happened but no one spoke of outright. He passed out around the tenth lash, and woke up to the feeling of dried blood cracking on his back._

__

__

_Now, he was a marvel. A mage, still sane after undergoing the Rite of Tranquility – was it because of his possession, perhaps? Now studies had to be made, he had to be poked and prodded and studied. He’d known this would happen, if he failed to escape, and he’d tried anyway._

__

__

_And then he’d tried again. And after he’d been brought back and whipped again, magebane stuffed down his throat just in case he still had some hidden magic he was hiding, he’d tried again. And succeeded. He spent two weeks doing nothing but running and searching desperately for food and water, in an attempt at not dying just as he’d reached freedom._

__

__

_When the templar found him, he’d heard the clinking of armor and the crunching of feet through the forest, but what was he to do? Hide? Run? Fight? Without warning, a blow to the head had sent him to his knees, and then he’d been beaten so severely he was surprised he was even still conscious. Numbly, he realized he was soon to die, practically able to see the glint of the Templar’s blade as it was raised._

__

__

_But then…silence. A thud, and more silence. What was going on? “Well?” He began, voice hoarse and strained from the agony flooding him. “You couldn’t shut up before.” He panted for air between each word, trying to cope with the pain as it throbbed through his back and the entirety of his body. “Lost your nerve? Not…not going to kill me, now?” He waited in the agony of silence, terrified and trying his best not to show it._

__

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_And then a voice, achingly familiar, made him think for a moment that he really had died. “Anders…it’s me.”_

__

__

*

Fenris was utterly horrified at the lash marks on Anders’ back, but he didn’t say as much, simply wetting the cloth he’d gotten and beginning to work. The water was too dirty to work with before long, and he had to leave again, emptying it and refilling it. Ideally, Anders would be able to take a real bath, but nothing about this situation was ideal. For once, he missed his mansion in Kirkwall. 

Anders stayed silent the majority of the time, to his credit, but Fenris could see when he tensed from the pain, when he’d touched a particularly painful wound. Finally, he was able to stop, coating the wounds in a thick elfroot salve he’d bought a few villages back. “Sit up, so I can bandage you.” He directed, and Anders nodded. 

As the mage struggled to raise himself off the bed, Fenris reached out without thinking, taking hold of his hands to help pull him up. Anders flinched, for the umpteenth time that evening, and Fenris could only imagine that it had been some time since he’d been touched without feeling pain. He could understand that – he’d lived it. “Anders.” 

Anders grimaced as he sat up, the wounds on his back and the bruises littering the rest of him screaming in protest at every movement. He’d jerked when Fenris touched him, shadow pain flitting through his body as he remembered every impact of every hand for the past month. “Yes?” He forced the word out. 

And then he stilled, utter shock coursing through him as he felt a kiss pressed to his forehead. Without saying a word, Fenris then went about wrapping his torso in bandages, and Anders knew without looking that the elf was scowling.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares, baths, nasty innkeepers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! It hasn't been a year, I'm so pleased with myself.  
> ADVERTISEMENT: I am considering getting a beta reader! If you're interested, please let me know, and if not, no worries ^^

Fenris had never possessed the skills of a healer. He knew enough to keep himself from dying of infection, but that wasn't saying much - after all, Fenris had the immune system of a lyrium-enhanced bronto. It wasn't until he'd already wrapped Anders' torso in bandages that Anders, weary as he was, asked a question that could have stood to be voiced earlier.  
"Do you not have any elfroot?"  
Fenris had to admit, he felt foolish. No matter how sturdy he was, it was only practical to have some kind of poultice or potion on him. "No."  
Anders was silent for a moment, and Fenris waited for a snide comment about his irresponsibility. In the old days, Anders would never have let an incident like this slide - a healer, he was ever fond of his elfroot. But when he spoke, Anders tone held no mockery, or even amusement. "I can show you how to make them, if you bring me the herbs."  
Fenris's brows furrowed. Had this not been such an unusual meeting, he would have taken the polite response as just that - polite. But looking at the mage, imagining the suffering he'd been through...he didn't like this new way Anders was behaving. When they'd known each other in Kirkwall, Anders was never silent, quipping at every overconfident enemy and making a fuss over each injury Fenris refused to let him heal. Now he was almost timid, as though the brand had burned away his humor and defiant nature. Not all of it, of course - that was clear from the way Anders had spoken to Fenris when he thought he was a Templar. But it was still a troubling change in his demeanor.  
However, now was not the time to say anything. Anders was practically falling asleep sitting up, pale gray eyes half-lidded. Perhaps Fenris was just overthinking it, and it was only exhaustion that kept Anders so quiet. After all, he'd only slept an hour or two on the walk to Denerim. Fenris tucked the last end of the bandages neatly under the rest, securing them, and said, "I will get elfroot in the morning." After a brief moment of hesitation, he added, "Do you need help laying down?"  
Anders immediately shook his head, and Fenris couldn't blame him. His pride must have been crushed already. Wincing with every movement, Anders carefully arranged himself on the bed, laying on his stomach. Fenris hadn't considered it, but he could imagine why Anders didn't want to sleep on his back. He was covered in open wounds, the scabs from what were clearly lashings having opened when he was beaten by the Templar. Fenris's jaw tightened, and an image of the man's dead body flashed through his mind. Good. He had deserved no better.  
Anders was half-asleep already, but as he arranged his head on the less-than-sanitary pillow, he mumbled, "Where are you going to sleep?"  
Fenris shook his head, and then cursed his stupidity. He wasn't going to get used to Anders' lack of sight for some time. "Do not concern yourself." He said, and very briefly placed a hand on the back of Anders' head, an attempt at a comforting gesture. Anders gave a very slight flinch, but didn't move away, and Fenris was half-sure he saw a smile flit across his face. Looking at his fingertips, slick from Anders' oily hair, Fenris decided they'd have to work out a way of bathing tomorrow. He himself was in a less than cleanly state, having spent weeks on the road.  
Within the next few minutes, Anders had fallen asleep, and Fenris situated himself on the floor across from the doorway, sword lying close by. He was an armed elf in a human inn - sleeping heavily would be taking unnecessary risks. After eating a piece of dried meat from his supply sack, Fenris made a mental note to refill it when he went out the next morning, before leaning his head against the wall and allowing himself to drowse. He was not unused to sleeping sitting up - or sleeping with one eye open, for that matter. Years of living with Danarius had instilled a permanent sense of caution in him.  
It was only a few hours later when a noise roused him, and he was on his feet, weapon unsheathed, within moments. However, it was not the sound of drunks, coming to teach the knife-ear a lesson, that had woken him. It was a whisper, thick and desperate, speaking words Fenris didn't understand. It must have been the language of the Anderfels, he realized, sheathing his sword and walking quietly to Anders' side. Fenris had learned some of Anders' past from Hawke - he'd come to Ferelden at a very young age. It was surprising that Anders had retained any of his native language, but Fenris quickly broke himself out of his thoughts, placing a hand on Anders' shoulder, where no bandages or bruises lay. He was going to speak, but the moment he touched him, Anders jerked violently, a startled scream letting out of him. Fenris stumbled back as Anders thrust out a hand, realizing with a sick feeling what he was doing.  
Anders was trying to use his magic. Fenris knew the motions, had seen Anders without his staff before. It had been long enough for any magebane Anders had been given to wear off, and for a moment Fenris fully expected to be engulfed in flame.  
Instead...there was nothing. Fenris stared with wide, alarmed eyes at Ander's outstretched palm, but no light appeared, no fire or electricity. Had...had his magic been taken from him? Fenris couldn't imagine such a thing, but then, he couldn't imagine a mage's mind surviving the Rite of Tranquility, either. Either way, it was clear he needed to do something, immediately.  
Anders hand was still raised, arm trembling, and a tear made its way down his cheek, catching in the corner of his mouth. He was half in the nightmare he had been woken from, and Fenris forced himself to cross the room. There was no danger here. "Anders." His voice was quiet, but not angry. Perhaps in the old days he'd have been furious for having a mage's hand aimed at him, particularly this mage, but now...he couldn't bring himself to feel anything but sorrow and a deep, deep regret.  
At the sound of his name, Anders' face went lax with realization, and though he flinched violently when Fenris took his hand, he didn't pull away. "I'm sorry." He whispered, more words catching in his thrust, but Fenris didn't reply. Slowly, Fenris lowered himself onto the bed, settling in what space was left. He kept his fingers entwined with Anders', their arms pressed together.  
"Sleep, mage. I will be here." Another tear fell onto Anders' cheek, and Fenris resisted the urge to ask just what he had been dreaming about. Part of him wanted to know, to ease Anders' suffering, but another - the part that remembered every second of his life as a slave, as freshly as though it had just happened - told him that he wouldn't be able to ease anything.  
But it seemed his presence soothed Anders, at least enough for him to sleep. Fenris didn't realize he himself had fallen asleep until he was woken by light pouring in the window. The inn was quieter than it had been the night before, all but the sleeping drunks having retreated to their rooms or homes. As Fenris sat up, he mentally chastised himself - their throats could have been slit in their sleep, defenseless as they were. His sword was laying by the wall, far out of his range. Forcing himself to move on from his carelessness, Fenris looked to the weight that was settled in the bed next to him.  
Anders was still sleeping soundly, but Fenris felt unease claw at his chest when he saw a faint crimson tinging his bandages. His outburst from the night before must have torn his wounds open enough that they'd begun bleeding. Another mistake - he should have checked for that. He was thinking over the issue of how to wake Anders without frightening him when he felt a movement beside him. Anders groped for his hand and, after finding it with a relieved squeeze, looked up. Fenris held back a wince at the sight of his blank eyes. "Fenris?"  
Anders' voice sounded uncharacteristically uneasy, hoarse and cracking, and Fenris answered before his name was fully out of his mouth. "I am here." He was silent for a few seconds, watching the tension in Anders' shoulders release. Then, with reluctance, he asked, "Anders...can you use your magic?"  
Anders stiffened. He was quiet for a moment, closing his eyes and lifting a hand to press at his forehead, directly over the sun-shaped brand that marked him. Fenris wondered if he could feel it...if it pained him. Finally, Anders lowered his hand. "No. I can't."  
Fenris didn't ask why.  
Their room, while perhaps not the most lavish of places, had a small area of smooth stones to bathe. Fenris told Anders to wait, before slipping out of the room and down the hall, bringing with him the empty bucket he'd used to get water the night before. The innkeeper wrinkled her nose at the sight of him, as though he was a piece of sentient dung that was purposely driving away her customers. However, she had no customers at the moment, aside from a very, very drunken man, drooling on one of the corner tables. Something told Fenris he would have a hard time driving that one away. "I need soap. And another night." He said shortly, pulling out his coin purse.  
The look on the innkeeper's face said that she would have enjoyed telling him how much he _did_ need soap. Instead, she held out a hand, saying in an accent that hinted at Orlesian ancestry, "Fifty silvers."  
Fenris narrowed his eyes. "That's a half-sovereign. It was twenty-two silvers yesterday."  
The innkeeper looked smug. "A night is twenty-two silvers, soap is three. It is double for knife-ears." Fenris scowled, and considered trying to bargain, but decided it wasn't worth it. At best, he'd get the price lowered by a few silvers, and at worst, he'd end up getting booted or attacked in the middle of the night. He paid, took the small chunk of lye soap she dropped on the counter, and headed to the well behind the building. It was going to be a task, since it would take at least three bucketfuls to rinse all the grime off of Anders, and another two after using the soap, but asking for another bucket wasn't an option. The innkeeper would try and charge him another twenty silvers, he thought bitterly.  
After filling the bucket, he returned to his room, feeling intensely uncomfortable. The next ten minutes were not going to be pleasant. "Anders, you need to bathe." Anders jolted as he spoke, head lifting. He'd sat up on the bed, but his face had been pointed at the floor until Fenris spoke.  
Anders tried to crack a smile, but his face shared Fenris's awkwardness. "You always were blunt." He said with an uneasy laugh, and Fenris had to force himself to keep his hands down when Anders got to his feet, wanted to reach out and help when he saw Anders' legs trembling. Anders was a grown man, and Fenris knew himself how it felt to be treated as less than that - he'd let the prideful mage do as much as he could on his own.  
After he was confident he wasn't about to fall over, Anders held out a hand. He was wearing nothing but a pair of trousers Fenris had stored in his bag from...a short interaction with bandits, some weeks before. At the time, he'd thought they would be good for a few coppers if sold, or perhaps even wearing over his leggings if the temperature dropped enough. Now he was extremely grateful he'd decided to take them, considering his leggings would hardly fit Anders. Still...the trousers would have been baggy on Fenris, and on Anders, they were practically falling off, his skinny frame enhanced by weeks spent in the wilderness. The bandages wrapped around his torso did little to conceal his starved frame, either. It would take weeks of regular eating to restore him to a somewhat healthy size, and Fenris wasn't counting the dried fruit he'd made the exhausted Anders eat while they traveled to the inn.  
Anders held out a hand. "Mind helping me to the bath?" Fenris set the bucket down next to the wall, where it wouldn't be knocked over by a stray foot, and carefully took Anders' hand. He still saw Anders' every flinch when he was touched, and while he knew slow movements wouldn't stop the startled reaction, he hoped they would at least be less jolting.  
True enough, the process of getting Anders clean was an uncomfortable one. Fenris gently peeled the bandages away from Anders' torso, setting them aside. His wounds were reddened, infection threatening to set in, and Fenris reminded himself to buy elfroot. He dutifully turned around while Anders undressed, not that there was much for him to remove. Once Anders had given him permission to turn around, Fenris kept his eyes focused on Anders' hair, oily strands falling loose around his face when he loosened the tie keeping it up. Anders, meanwhile, kept his hands fisted on his thighs. 

**

_Bathing was always a difficult task, in Darktown. Anders had a spell that could rid the water of most of its filth, but it still held a foul odor. Regardless, he hated being dirty, and he tried to take a bath every night, something he encouraged his patients to do as well. He had a tub just large enough to take an actual bath in, filling it, bucket by bucket, from the small well in the corner of his clinic._  
_Some nights he was so worn, from the massive number of patients, a mission with Hawke, or both, that he simply collapsed on one of the cots and slept instead of bathing. Tonight was not one of those nights; he'd had almost no patients, nothing to do with Hawke, and he'd been given a scented bar of soap by a grateful woman with a broken ankle. He was practically dancing as he filled the tub, purifying it and heating the water. It had been a slow day, he would grant himself the luxury of warm water._  
_He soaked in the tub longer than any person living in Darktown had a right to, scrubbing his hair thoroughly with the flowery soap and dunking his head into the steaming water. Finally, he decided it would be best to try and get some sleep - a quiet day in the clinic guaranteed a loud one following. After rinsing off any remaining soap, he stood, stepping carefully out of the tub. On a stool a few feet away, he'd left a drying cloth and his hair tie, and he reached for the tie first, lifting his arms and gathering his hair back._  
_"Mage, I need-"_  
_Anders whipped around and dropped his hair tie, snatching up the drying cloth and holding it in front of himself to try and preserve what remained of his dignity. Fenris had turned his head to the side, but not turned around, and Anders wryly wondered if it was so he didn't have his back to the abomination. Either way, Anders was clearly not the only flustered one - Fenris's cheeks were ruddy, and his long ears were an unusual shade of pink. "Hawke sent me to get poultices."_  
_Anders gaped at him, incredulous, and spluttered, "Do you think you could wait for me to put on a pair of blasted knickers before telling me that?!"_  


_**_

__

No, Anders decided, that had been much less humiliating than what was happening now. He screwed his eyes shut as Fenris poured yet another bucket of cold water over him, goosebumps prickling at his neck and back from the cold. The goosebumps doubled when Fenris ran a hand through his hair, helping the trickle of water from the bucket rinse out any remaining soap. This had to be the fifth bucket so far, marked by periods of sitting, naked, alone, and half-frozen, on a stool in the bath. Anders wondered just how much grime had been on him, after all that time without a bath or even a wet cloth. He'd scrubbed with the cloth Fenris had given him for some time, and there were still a few spots on his back and legs that Fenris apologetically - not that he said as much, but it was obvious in his tone - finished up for him.  
He couldn't express his relief when Fenris finally set the bucket down, saying, "That will do. Here." A drying cloth bumped his hand, and Anders gratefully took it. He heard Fenris's catlike steps as he turned away, thinking of the difference in this encounter and the one in their past. Back then, though they had known each other better than they did now, Fenris would never have turned his back on Anders. Of course, Anders wasn't anywhere near as dangerous now as he had been. He was blind, of course, and devoid of any sort of magical power, including Justice.  
Anders stood, drying himself as best he could, and groped off to the side for the trousers he'd been wearing. He found them without having to ask for help, much to his pleasure, and he managed to keep the ends mostly dry as he put them on. "Alright." Fenris's light footsteps sounded again, and Anders held up a hand. Fenris took it, and though Anders was expecting the touch, he still recoiled, ever so slightly.  
Anders sat on the bed, relieved that he was done with the entire horrible process of washing up. "I am going to the market." Fenris said, and Anders stilled. Of course Fenris needed to go to the market, he realized. He needed clothes, for one, and elfroot. There were probably other supplies Fenris needed to stock up on as well, considering he'd been on the road for some time when he encountered Anders the day before.  
Anders wondered if it would be childish of him to try to convince Fenris to stay. Instead, he gave a slight smile, nodding. "I feel like I could sleep for another ten hours, so I imagine I'll just nap while you're gone." He said, trying to keep his tone light.  
He had felt unsafe for so long, and now that Fenris was here...it was as though he'd been given a shield. In Kirkwall, they had been comrades-in-arms, even if they despised each other. Then they'd been acquaintances, then friends, and then...something else. He wasn't sure what they were now, but he did know that he'd finally, finally, found someone that didn't hate him. He was...dependent, in a way that rather sickened him.  
There was an unspoken apology in Fenris's voice, and Anders wondered how much of the fear at being left alone showed on his face. Fenris had never been the sympathetic type, but he wasn't cruel, and Anders knew Fenris well enough to recognize pity in the way he was acting. "I will be quick, mage. I don't plan to go far."  
And, soon enough, Fenris was gone. Anders lay on his stomach again, the wounds on his back unbound - Fenris was out of bandages. It felt as though each second was an eternity, and Anders imagined repeatedly a Templar bursting through the door, dragging him away or cutting his head off while he still lay in the bed.  
And then, just over an hour later, the door creaked open. Anders inhaled sharply, jerking his head up, and heard an exclamation of surprise from the door. 

_**_

The innkeeper wasn't sure what she'd expected to find in the elf's room. Her brother, who managed the inn with her, told her that he'd come in with another person the night before. However, she'd seen no sign of another inhabitant in the room, and the elf hadn't asked for any food. She assumed they had left the night before, perhaps while the elf slept. If she was lucky, there would be something valuable to take and blame on another patron, particularly the sleeping drunk. She hadn't been hoping for anything specific - just something she could sell for a silver or two.  
Instead, she saw a man, his back covered in horrific wounds and bruises...with a Tranquil's brand on his forehead. She stumbled back, covering her mouth, only to bump into the elf, his expression dark. "Do you go through all of your patron's rooms?" The tattooed elf asked, voice low and eyes narrowed.  
She floundered for a moment, trying to work out a response for this utterly bizarre situation, before spluttering, "Get out!"  
The elf scowled at her, spitting out his reply. "As you wish." He entered his room, closing the door behind him, and she waited with her arms crossed, wondering whether to call the guard if he took too long. Then the door reopened, and the elf - his Tranquil servant now covered in a shirt and wearing shoes - walked out past her, the Tranquil stumbling along behind him.  
She followed them, watching until they were out the door, before letting out a slow breath. She knew letting that knife-ear in was a mistake...if he'd done that to his own servant, she could only imagine what he'd have done to her. And more cocnerningly, how in Andraste's name had an elf gotten ahold of a Tranquil? 

_**_

Fenris was seething. Anders didn't have to see his face to know that. He'd had a shirt quickly shoved over his head, wincing as the hurried motions pulled at his wounds, and then shoes shoved onto his feet. Walking was still sore, but he didn't want to be carried out, so he simply took Fenris's hand. He could hear the innkeeper's huff as they walked past her, and wondered what on earth she thought of them. She hadn't called the guard, though his heart was still racing at the fear that she would. A tattooed elf and a blind, Tranquil mage; they weren't exactly an inconspicuous pair.  
As they marched away from the inn, Anders finally said in a quiet voice, "Can we slow down?"  
Fenris immediately slowed, and Anders gave him a slight nod in thanks. "Where do you plan on going?" He asked. Fenris was quiet for a long moment, and Anders had a moment of intuition. When Fenris's reluctant, bitter answer finally came, Anders wasn't surprised.  
"The alienage." 


End file.
